The New Guys
by T'Pring
Summary: Elizabeth was looking forward to watching Col. Sheppard win over a new batch of Pegasus Galaxy recruits... When the Wraith disrupt a routine training mission, Sheppard must show the new guys what it takes to get everyone home. Shep whump ensues. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This chapter started out as, and actually does work as a stand-alone vignette, and came from an idle curiosity about what Sheppard's command style must be like. His character is so often portrayed in the series as casual and dare-I-say-it goofy, that it seems odd for him to command a large, traditional military base. Combine such notions with hearing my sister talk about her experience in the Army, a great article on "personality typecasting for fictional characters", a bad week that left me really wanting to hurt-and-comfort our favorite Colonel, and you get the results below. Enjoy it for what it's worth! _

_The rest of the story that fell out of the vignette demonstrates that Sheppard has many qualities that compensate for his lack of traditional military style.  
_

* * *

Elizabeth Weir could hear the murmur of many idle voices as she neared the open door at the end of the long and beautiful Atlantian corridor. The sounds of her purposeful footsteps were drowned out by the cheerful babble, and she reached the military Duty Room unnoticed for the moment. She paused at the threshold to take in the crowded room, warm and stuffy with bodies, noisy with the chatter of excited newcomers and sedate old-timers. 

The Duty Room was the "Stargate Operations" of the military base on Atlantis, and as such there were always at least a handful of soldiers and officers present either working at administrative duties or on standby alert. The Duty Room was also the main conference room for full command gatherings and the weekly command briefings. Today was the first weekly briefing after the most recent Dedalus delivery of fresh military personnel and Elizabeth was very much looking forward to watching Col. Sheppard win over a new batch of Pegasus Galaxy recruits.

As she sidled into the crowd and worked her way through the rows of chairs and desks and cabinets, Elizabeth smiled to herself in anticipation. John Sheppard was not your typical Air Force Colonel and his command style took some getting used to...or so she'd observed over her months as Expedition leader. Elizabeth herself was not your usual mission commander either, and it also often took the new soldiers some time to adjust to having so many civilians around. With its unique combination of military and scientific agendas, Atlantis itself was simply not your usual posting in any sense, military or civilian, and Elizabeth was often amazed at how their combination of unique personalities had coalesced into a cohesive, effective leadership team. And speaking of civilians…

"Elizabeth!" Rodney McKay, senior scientist and 2nd in the civilian chain of command waved frantically from a few feet away and had to squeeze himself between two bulky new Marines who didn't seem to feel the need to move out of the way for him. Visibly annoyed, Rodney stepped close to Elizabeth and threw a haughty scowl back at the two men who mistakenly thought that looking intimidating would spare them the wrath of McKay.

Deciding it was better to distract the voluble scientist than find out who could win a glaring contest, Elizabeth nudged McKay towards the front of the room and said, "So, John talked you into the Dog and Pony show, too?"

"Uh, yeah." Giving up the contest as beneath him, McKay turned away from his antagonists and actually grinned. "Wouldn't miss it actually. I've come to really enjoy the Colonel's tactics for getting these grunts to behave around here. For a career action figure, the man is remarkably adept at subtle manipulation!"

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. That certainly summed up John's style: Subtlety combined with competence and that special something that elicited deep respect and loyalty from others. "_G.I. John"_, she thought to herself and almost giggled. Rodney's "action figure" phrase had struck her fancy. John was anything _but._

Rodney and Elizabeth finally reached the front of the room where Sheppard, Ronon and Lorne were immersed in conversation, apparently going over the last details of the weekly briefing. Sheppard made a couple of notes on the clipboard he was holding then, throwing a quick roguish look at Elizabeth who was settling against the wall, he quietly cleared his throat and lazily called out, "All right people!"

Elizabeth could immediately sort out the newcomers from the seasoned Atlantis soldiers in that exact moment: Every one of the new guys remained standing around, talking and chatting -- Every soldier who'd been on Atlantis for longer than a day or two was suddenly silent, their attention focused entirely on the Colonel at the front of the room. Elizabeth grinned. It was the same every time. She exchanged an amused look with Rodney who was bouncing on his toes in eager anticipation, and even saw some of the other veterans beginning to grin too.

With a practiced roll of his eyes, and a look of mock exasperation, Sheppard tilted his head to Ronon who was still standing at his side.

"THE MAN SAID COME TO ORDER!!" bellowed Ronon. More than one young man in the room jumped and the room suddenly went silent except for the scraping of boots and chairs as everyone found a place to stand or sit.

"That's better," smiled Sheppard, still not bothering to raise his voice any louder than necessary. "First off: To our new reinforcements -- Welcome to Atlantis. You should all be in-processed by now. If you have any questions or problems with assigned living quarters, Staff Sergeant Baker will assist you. He'll be around after the briefing or during regular office hours. And no: You can't have a room with a balcony on the East Pier, so don't ask."

There was a chuckle of amusement through the room and most of the soldiers were smiling or nodding with self-conscious grins. Atlantis was a beautiful city, with enough ocean view for each expedition member to get his or her fair share. And yet, she was sure the thought of a tower suite had crossed every mind in the room at least once today.

John went on in a tone of comfortable monotony, "Second: Every new arrival on Atlantis will complete a baseline medical exam with Dr. Beckett before you're allowed offworld. The schedule will be posted along with the Pegasus Orientation training schedule, and offworld training will begin in 5 days. Lorne's team will take a group of 12 to the Alpha site, my team will take a group of 8 to Beta site." Sheppard paused to check his notes and the whispering that broke out through the room seemed a bit mutinous to Elizabeth. She caught the phrase "_more_ training?" floating above the murmurs.

As if John had heard, and he probably had, his next words were, if possible, even more carelessly spoken, "Third: As of this moment, no matter how long you've been with the Stargate program, or how many times you've traveled offworld, your experience in the Milky Way Galaxy means exactly Zilch." The room grew silent again, thick with curious and/or annoyed attentiveness.

John ploughed on and his voice finally took on an edge, "Atlantis is 3 million light-years from Earth. The only ship we have at our disposal is the Dedalus, and that only between milk and Cheerios runs. You, me, the scientists and one measly ZPM are the only thing standing between the Wraith and this city. This city is the only thing standing between the Wraith and the way back to Earth. And the Wraith are like nothing you've encountered back home… Yes, lieutenant? You've got something to say?"

The Marine who had been shaking his head and frowning with disdain blushed a deep red, but held his ground under Sheppard's calm stare, "Yes, sir! Some of us have gone up against the Goa'uld a bunch of times, sir. And the Ori are no picnic either. Surely that experience counts for something." Several of the lieutenant's friends around him were nodding their heads emphatically. Sheppard smiled again and the lieutenant puffed up a bit, certain he'd won a point with his new C/O.

"Your previous experience can count for a lot, lieutenant: A lot of ways for you to make assumptions and get yourself and the rest of your team killed faster than you can say 'Wraithbait.'"

While the surprised young soldier's smug smirk evaporated into an embarrassed glower, Sheppard crossed his arms and rocked on his heels as he took in the group of men and women before him. His expression was concerned and sincere. "Stargate Command hand-picked each and every one of you for this assignment. To me, THAT'S what counts. _That_ tells me that you're bright young kids who know the difference between an assumption and an observation; _That_ tells me that your ability to think on the fly has been demonstrated; _That_ tells me you're able to adapt to new situations. I _expect_ each and every one of you to listen to every word that Ronon, Teyla, Dr. McKay and I say to you during your orientation because anything…_ANYTHING_… you learn could mean the difference between life and death."

John let the message sink in while he shuffled his papers and consulted briefly with Lorne about the next bit of business, looking mildly bored again as he hopped up onto a desk and spread out the sheets around him. Elizabeth watched the room as the new recruits squirmed or slouched or sat quietly in contemplation. Several were staring at Sheppard with openly bewildered expressions, clearly wondering if they really were seeing the same Lt. Colonel John Sheppard they'd undoubtedly heard such fantastic stories about.

"That last part is new, isn't it?" Rodney whispered in her ear as Sheppard started in next on a round of duty assignments and requirements. "The Colonel's getting a bit poetic in his old age. Personally, I liked his old line about 'Vampires vs. Snakes' much better, but the 'wraithbait' bit was still pretty good."

Elizabeth only nodded, now watching the lieutenant who'd taken the brunt of Sheppard's lesson. The man was still sulking and a little warning bell of concern went off as she saw him lean over to his buddy and exchange a nasty snicker. _There_ was a little knot of trouble for John to unravel, she thought sadly.

"He's wrong, by the way…" Rodney was saying as Elizabeth returned her attention to the chattering McKay.

"You don't think making assumptions is dangerous?" Elizabeth whispered back in surprise.

"No, no. Not that. He's wrong about Atlantis. It's closer to 3.1 million light-years from Earth if you take into account Earth's position in the Milky Way in addition to the empty space in between."

"Oh," she said.

Once the situation briefings and assignments and command introductions were over, Sheppard waved Elizabeth over to introduce her formally to the room. From his place now leaning on the edge of the desk with his feet stuck out and crossed in front of him, John smiled warmly as she passed and simply announced to the room that "The Boss," had arrived.

Elizabeth spoke a few words of greeting and, in turn, introduced McKay to represent the scientific community to the new arrivals. Not until he had thoroughly bored everyone into a dull stupor did the egocentric scientist turn the floor back over to Sheppard who's glazed, unfocused look only mirrored every other face in the room.

"So, ah…" Sheppard stifled a yawn, "Before we hit the chow line, any questions? Anything you want to know about Atlantis or past missions? Anything you want to ask about the city? …where the bathrooms are? …anything?"

While the soldiers in the room shuffled their feet and a few innocuous questions were hesitantly raised for John to field, Rodney returned to Elizabeth's side. Glancing around at the curious troops and smirking, he leaned over to whisper again, "Wonder which question it's going to be this time!"

Elizabeth smiled back with amusement. Someone always worked up the courage to ask about one of Sheppard's more interesting adventures during his time on Atlantis. Some of the stories were taking on legendary qualities, and so _THE_ question Rodney was referring to nearly always began with "Is it true…?"

"I'm betting on the Hive ships question again. That one seems to be gaining popularity. Although the tried and true 'Jumper with the nuke' story is always a possibility…" Elizabeth was only half listening to McKay, she was again watching the surly lieutenant who suddenly shot his hand up into the air and flashed a 'watch this' grin to his companions.

"Yeah, go ahead Lt….?" Sheppard nodded lazily at the waving hand.

"Miller, sir. Is it true (_Rodney poked Elizabeth in the ribs_) that you were kicked out of the Afghan theatre on Earth for insubordination, sir?"

Elizabeth sucked in her breath and frowned, and the room grew suddenly so silent you could hear the ocean lapping against the city several stories below them. Who did this snotty kid think he was?? She felt her face grow hot with anger and was within a heartbeat of chewing out the arrogant kid herself when John's soft chuckle stopped her. Every eye shifted to Sheppard who still lounged comfortably against the desk, still smiling slightly. Rodney was grinning like a fool at the prospect of a knock-down-drag-out shout-fest.

Sheppard's voice, however, was mild and more amused than angry. "Yes, Miller. That would be true. But you've already forgotten item number three: Nothing any of us have done before matters very much out here."

"But sir, don't you think following the chain of command matters?" The lieutenant spoke abruptly, almost interrupting Sheppard before he finished.

"Not when the chain of command is wrong." The soft statement sparked a flurry of shuffling and uncomfortable glances throughout the space. Certainly not the usual party line, thought Elizabeth studying John closely. From anyone else, the declaration would have seemed brash or defiant. From John, it was merely how things were.

Elizabeth had once had her own trouble with a younger Major John Sheppard who seemed to think he knew best about every situation. For them it had come down to a matter of trust. Elizabeth had given John the benefit of her trust, and he had flourished, both in his command and in his trust in himself. This was not the same John Sheppard who had yelled at Sgt. Bates when frustrated by the prickly security officer's obnoxious demeanor. And it was certainly not the same John Sheppard who had flown helicopters in Afghanistan. She only hoped that every new soldier in this room figured out quickly what the rest of them already knew: The John Sheppard sitting comfortably slouched on the desk in front of them was worthy of his command; and following his command would make the Pegasus Galaxy a safer place for all of them.

Unfortunately, the young Lt Miller seemed determined not to learn that lesson…yet. "So, you're telling us that we can just go off and do whatever we want if we disagree with you? _Sir_?"

"Disagree – No. If I'm wrong – Yes. I'll try not to be wrong if you'll try to trust me when you disagree."

"But you were wrong in Afghanistan. Capt. Holland still died." The little jerk sure had his details straight, thought Elizabeth.

John narrowed his eyes and studied Milller for so long that Elizabeth wondered why he hadn't just gotten up and smacked the boy already. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dangerous, finally showing the first hint of anger, "You go tell Capt. Holland's Mother and Father that returning the body of their son to bury in Arlington Cemetery with honors was a mistake. You look them in the eye and tell them that it would have been better if I had followed orders and never even _tried_ to save Lyle's life. You do that, and _then_ you can tell me I was wrong. _Lieutenant!_"

Miller had the good sense to shut up at last. And judging by the reaction in the room, it wouldn't have been John who would have smacked the boy had he continued to argue: The rest of the men and women who weren't glowering fiercely at Miller were gazing in awe at Sheppard.

"Any more questions?" John pushed off the desk to shove his hands in his pocket, once again the epitome of casual nonchalance. "All right then. Beat it, people. Hit the mess before McKay's labrats eat all the chocolate pudding."

The new guys looked around in confusion as the seasoned soldiers began to stretch and move out of the Duty Room, chatting away in small groups of two and three. One of the more anxious of the new bunch shot a nervous look at Lorne as he was passing by. Lorne just shrugged, "He said you're dismissed." The room emptied out rapidly after that.

Elizabeth followed the exiting soldiers slowly, waiting for the room to clear enough to wave goodbye to John and let him know she was leaving. When she finally caught his eye he grinned, then with a dramatic shrug, he raised his eyes skyward and shook his head comically. Her grin warmed into a genuine smile and she nodded back with sympathy and an eye roll of her own.

"Sheppard's got his work cut out for him with that crowd." Rodney stated emphatically, catching the exchange.

"Mmm. I would have been a lot harder on that Miller kid. What was he thinking anyway!"

"I'll bet the little twerp was just doing his homework, you know: look up your boss's record to have flattery in your pocket for the right social occasion. Sheppard knocked him down a peg and he pulled out the dirt instead of the medals." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. The observation was remarkably astute…especially for Rodney who usually had trouble noticing there was someone else in the room, much less interpreting complicated social situations.

"Let's just hope that was the end of his 'questions' for the day."

"Yes. The idiot made me lose my bet!" With a wink, McKay turned into the hallway and slouched off towards his own labs.

Elizabeth paused just outside the Duty Room door, undecided on what was next on her agenda and thought briefly of asking John if he wanted some lunch too. When she turned back to peek in and see if he was occupied, it took her a second to find him among the remaining, regular on-duty bustle. Once she did spot him, she froze in concern, hesitated for a brief moment, then quietly turned away and walked on alone.

John Sheppard sat slumped at his desk, his eyes staring vacantly into space, his mind clearly a million miles away.

Elizabeth was sure that he was, in fact, 3.1 million light-years away in Afghanistan, painfully reliving the decision he'd made then that had ultimately led him to here and now. She made a mental note to pop in on him later and find an opportunity to remind him how grateful she was that he _was_ in the here and now. There would always be those narrow-minded individuals who would challenge Sheppard based on his past. Gratefully they were coming fewer and further between as his performance on Atlantis continued to prove that his command and philosophy worked. But it was a command founded on the force of his personality and earned respect, rather than on the force of intimidation.

Perhaps Rodney was right that the annoying Lt. Miller was only acting out because he'd been embarrassed, she thought, fervently hoping it would end there once Miller spent some time on Atlantis and under John's care.

She forced down a small, tight knot of worry. For some reason, though, she suspected that Miller might be one of those individuals who learned things the hard way.


	2. Chapter 2

"MILLER! What the hell are you doing?!"

John Sheppard jerked his head towards the panicky shout and cursed fiercely. _So damn close!_ He thought as the scene unfolded before his eyes, knowing he was powerless to prevent it, yet propelling himself into motion anyway.

Training team B was just within visual range as they pounded their way towards the Stargate while two darts buzzed the area. The deadly Wraith ships had zipped out of the 'gate smack into the tail end of Sheppard's unsuspecting training mission. Sheppard had ordered immediate withdrawal and the two training teams, out on their own for the last of the field exercises, were beating a hasty retreat. _We'd have been out of here in another damn hour!_

One of the darts drew a bead on the retreating men and started what Sheppard recognized as a scooping run along the path they were following. Three of the team members reacted just as they'd been taught over the last couple of days by scattering off the path and peppering the air with distracting cover fire. It was Lt. Peterson, Sheppard noted, that was shouting to his teammate.

"Miller! Get the hell out of the way!" John added his own voice to the screamed advice.

Miller, however, stood his ground and dropped to one knee, presumably to try for a damaging kill-shot.

It was brave of the kid, thought Sheppard as he raced even faster towards his floundering trainees, drawing Ronon along with him. Brave but really, really stupid! With a lucky shot, Miller's P-90 might have taken down a Goa'uld glider. With the combined fire of the 6 of them they maybe even could have damaged an Alkesh cruiser enough to convince it to leave the fight. A Wraith dart however…

Feeling bile rise in his throat, John watched helplessly as the dart simply deployed its culling beam and scooped up the surprised Miller before he got a single shot off.

John skidded to a halt as the dart pulled a sharp incline and grew smaller in the bright sky, turning as it gained altitude to reposition for another run. Ronon pulled up next to him, silently waiting for Sheppard's next command.

John couldn't take his eyes off the innocently empty spot on the path where Miller had stood only seconds ago. His heart was pounding from exertion and fear of what Miller was likely to face should John fail to get him out of the dart's clutches. No one, not even the mouthy Miller, deserved the fate the Wraith intended for him. The three remaining trainees slowly staggered to their own feet, also staring in anguished shock, first following the dart's path, then hopelessly looking to Sheppard in silent pleas for guidance.

"Move!" Sheppard bellowed, yanking himself out of the horrified reverie. "Get to the 'gate. Take up defensive positions." Without waiting for them to comply, but certain that they would, John next snatched for his radio, "Anderson! Keep your eye on the nearest dart, the one on your 3 o'clock. Don't let it out of your sight, there's a friendly on board. It's your job to tell me which one to blow the hell out of and which one to bring down intact!"

"Yes, sir!" the young Captain's response was quick but shaky. Anderson and the rest of Team A had made it back to the 'gate with efficient speed and were nervously waiting with McKay and Teyla for the rest of the training mission to join them. Sheppard had already made a mental note to keep those four recruits together – they had gelled quickly, and were working extremely well together. But they were still green as hell. These guys were getting their trial by fire in Pegasus, John thought sadly.

Once the remaining members of Miller's team had raced past, Ronon and Sheppard turned to jog after them, Sheppard still speaking rapidly into the radio at his shoulder, "McKay. Dial the 'gate home, but tell them to keep the shields up."

"Right," came McKay's also shaky reply.

"Don't think they'll go through the 'gate to just anywhere?" Ronon rumbled at his side.

"Yeah," grunted Sheppard in reply, "and if they do get by us, we'll at least know they'll be destroyed against Atlantis's shield."

"And Miller with them…" Ronon voiced the thought John was suppressing.

The steady whine of the circling Darts, a sound John was always aware of in the back of his mind, began to grow steadily louder and more ominous. He had just reached the foot of the reassuringly active Stargate when they all saw the darts regroup for a combined scooping run. Hastily deploying the 11 of them against the attack, Sheppard shouted orders, pleased to see them carried out immediately.

"Peterson, you're on the SAW – you take out the dart we don't need. Everyone else is to concentrate small weapons fire on the friendly. Wounding fire, if you know what I mean. We'll simply deflect it for another run if we have to."

There wasn't any time for more specifics. The darts were bearing down on them and the Atlantis soldiers raised their weapons in readiness. "Which one Anderson?" Sheppard yelled over the ear-splitting engine noise.

"Take out the lead dart. The friendly is in the back!"

"Are you sure?!"

"Y…Yes sir!" Anderson sounded like a man hoping to God that he was right, but he managed to choke out the answer confidently enough for Sheppard. John nervously threw one last hasty look around the group.

"Peterson, fire on the lead dart." Peterson responded immediately, the pounding pulses of the powerful assault weapon drowning out the smaller retort of the eclectic collection of smaller weapons. Even Rodney was firing his 9 mil randomly into the air from his spot next to the DHD. The screaming darts broke formation under the onslaught and Peterson wrenched his heavy gun in a jerky arc to follow his target, scoring a damaging hit to the exposed underbelly of the alien craft. With a satisfying shriek of stressed material, the dart billowed thick black smoke and gently curved into an ever-steeper angle towards the ground.

Peterson whooped as the dart finally fell from the sky just out of sight beyond the gently curving hills. A plume of smoke and debris launched into the sky to accompanying tremors under their feet. More cheers broke out and the mushroom of black haze began to drift slowly away in the breeze.

Sheppard, however, was watching the remaining dart uneasily as it again gained altitude away from the 'gate. It seemed to be taking a different vector than he'd observed as the usual escape-regroup maneuver.

A small spark of light was his only warning and Sheppard had only enough time to shout, "COVER" before a blast of energy exploded among them, throwing everyone to the ground. A second blast struck the DHD and John was peppered with shards of plastic and unidentified Ancient metals as the device exploded into uselessness. The Stargate sputtered, then, with a pathetic fizzle, the event horizon dissipated.

Shaking his head more against the ringing in his ears than from the sharp sting on his forehead, Sheppard pushed himself off the cool, grassy ground to his knees, immediately looking skyward to keep track of the dart. This time, the slender ship was rising to regroup in an arc that looked familiar. _45 seconds_ John thought to himself – the amount of time it usually took for a dart to start another run.

"McKay!" John suddenly exclaimed, rising quickly to unsteady feet. The scientist had been standing next to the DHD last time he'd looked, and John had chunks of DHD falling from his vest and jacket and clinging to the spikes in his hair.

"He's fine," Teyla called hastily. John staggered over to see her squatting over the sprawled McKay and handing him some gauze from her first-aid pocket.

"If you call multiple lacerations and a possible concussion 'fine'…" McKay groused, and in fact, the man's face was a bloody mess of many small cuts and scrapes. But Sheppard had seen worse…much worse, and after a quick but thorough glance, he knew that the cuts were minor and that McKay was in no danger from his wounds.

"Rodney…" breathed Sheppard as he turned away to asses the rest of the group. _30 seconds…_

"Yes, yes. I know. I'm sure there will only be minor scarring…"

"…Fix the DHD!" Sheppard finished, then promptly tuned out the resulting annoyed splutter.

Ronon had been the furthest from the blasts and was already moving through the group of trainees. Anderson was pulling up one of his teammates who was also uninjured, Peterson still lay blinking, tangled up in a heap with his large weapon. Sheppard stepped over and hauled the dazed gunner to his feet, stooping to hoist the weapon himself. By then, Ronon and the others were hovering over two trainees who were injured more severely than the rest. One man was still unconscious with an ugly purple bruise swelling on his cheek and forehead, and his teammate, Lt. Johnson, was hastily pulling out a cold chemical compress; the other was shakily pressing a field bandage onto a deep gash down his arm.

Sheppard joined them and squatted, resting his heavy weapon butt-down on the ground to lean against like a staff. Receiving a reassuring nod from Johnson as he tended to the unconscious soldier, John fixed the conscious wounded trainee with a steady look, "You alright, Merrill?" he asked, watching the lieutenant grimace and clench his hand around the bandage more tightly.

"Yes sir," Merrill replied, pulling himself together. He returned Sheppard's appraising look. "How about you, sir? That's gotta sting…"

With genuine confusion, Sheppard raised an eyebrow…and indeed felt the sting on his forehead in response. Dabbing gingerly at the forgotten cut, mildly surprised by the amount of blood that was trickling down his temple into his hairline, Sheppard only shrugged. The whine of the approaching dart was growing on John's consciousness again.

"Miller was a pain in the ass," he said finally, with a hint of a grin to soften the words. "Is he worth all this to get him back?"

Merill's eyes narrowed in determination, "Yes, SIR! Give 'em hell, SIR!"

Sheppard was pleased with the nods and general agreement from the circle of men around him. He rose, hoisted the SAW aloft again and barked, "Re-form the defensive perimeter. We'll try this again. I'll take the shot, the rest of you distract the Sucker. Johnson, you stay with the wounded."

A chorus of "Yessir!" echoed around him and with their remaining time, they hurried to their positions in a loose semi-circle around the DHD and a frantically working Rodney McKay.

_3 seconds…_ The dart completed its turn and pointed its nose at the Stargate.

John clamped down on his own fear as he settled the weapon on his shoulder. Peterson was the weapons specialist but the kid was pretty shaken up after that blast at the DHD. John shifted his grip a few times, scuffed his feet into proper stance. Even if he thought Peterson _could_ hold it together, John wanted to take the shot that would bring the Wraith himself. If the craft was too badly damaged, then the chances of getting Miller out were slim. If Miller died, the burden was John's alone. He felt Ronon position himself at his left shoulder.

The dart leveled out, skimming the nearest hilltops and bearing down on them again with terrifying speed. John licked his lips, shifted the weapon again, took a few deep preparatory breaths…

The Stargate began to groan as chevrons suddenly came to life in sequence, punching in an address to somewhere they'd never heard of and would never be able to find again once the 'gate closed again. "MCKAY!" Sheppard jerked his head automatically towards the Doctor and his bellow had an edge of panic.

"The dart has its own DHD, I can't stop it from dialing!"

"Shut down the wormhole, then!"

"And how am I supposed to do that?!" McKay was nearing full panic mode, his voice sounding more angry than scared. "Pull the cord out of the wall and hope it turns off? Do you see this mess? It's a wonder the 'gate is getting any power at all… Oh! Hey! Maybe if I interrupt the power the wormhole will collapse…" And he dove back into the guts of the smoking unit still muttering to himself.

An energy blast sent them scattering, as, no doubt, the Wraith intended and the Stargate kawooshed into sparkling life.

"Rodney!" Definitely panic this time.

"I'm trying!" McKay yelled back, holding his ground.

Another blast sent them ducking for cover and the dart abruptly accelerated towards the beckoning window of escape.

A cold vice gripped Sheppard's heart as he saw the tip of the ship's nose touch the event horizon and John gathered himself for the sprint that would take him into the Stargate after it. Even as he took the first doomed steps, he knew that if the 'gate on the other side was a space 'gate, he was done for; if the 'gate on the other side was in the middle of a Wraith stronghold, he was just as dead. But he couldn't give Miller up without trying.

John was gaining momentum when he realized that the dart had miraculously continued on through the ring…on this planet. The wormhole dissipated at the last possible second and the dart, realizing it was still in the same solar system, pulled up to gain altitude for another run.

"Holy Shit that was close," yelled Anderson, his voice squeaky with fear.

Sheppard stopped running as quickly as he'd started. "Open fire! Open fire!" Sheppard cut Anderson off, "He's gonna be really pissed when he comes back. Bring it down!" As his men responded efficiently, Sheppard also raised the SAW and, throwing all his eggs into one basket, or, all his bullets into the air at once as it was, he thumbed it to full automatic mode. The hailstorm of ammunition peppered the retreating dart, making small sparks fly against the shielded panels, Ronon's blaster managed to just tap the engine bubble and finally…_finally_ the ship shuddered, losing altitude.

"Cease fire!"

If they'd done enough damage to bring it down, Sheppard didn't want to risk making the landing any harder than it had to be for Miller's sake. In sudden, breathless silence they all watched the struggling craft wobble closer to the ground, then with an alarming jerk, the engine glow vanished and the dart dropped like a stone, a hill or two away from, but in the general direction of, the first crashed dart.

John slowly lowered his gun, his arms and shoulders trembling from the effort of controlling the powerful device, the rest of him trembling from reaction and the close call. Shouts and whoops rose up around him. A couple of the guys began stomping a little dance around the DHD where Rodney stood grinning and absently waving a blackened and chipped power crystal.

John closed his eyes briefly and took a deep calming breath…for a moment there, he'd been certain his day was about to end as a mummified bit of space debris, floating above a Wraith planet with an orbiting Stargate for eternal company…or worse. His hand was still shaking a minute or two later when he slapped it against Rodney's shoulder and choked out a quiet, "Thanks, Rodney…"

"You're welcome!" McKay replied cheerfully, as if Sheppard had had no part in the encounter.

Teyla walked over to join them, then studying John closely, she reached back into her pocket for more bandages. Stepping over closer, she called out firmly, "John, let me look at that cut." Such was the power of Teyla's soft command that Sheppard was automatically leaning towards her before he quite realized what he was doing.

After she took a quick look and probed the flesh with gentle fingers, John stood straight again and absently swiped at the steady trickle of blood on his temple with the back of his hand, only managing to smear the stuff around and get his hand wet too. "It'll be fine, Teyla. We need to get moving…" He wiped the hand on his pants.

"Stop that," she scolded, ignoring his irritated sigh as she snatched at his collar and pulled him down to her again. With quick efficiency, she finished tearing open the sterile gauze and dabbed away enough dampness to slap a simple square bandage over the cut.

John fidgeted while she worked, finally deciding to go ahead and lay out his plans for their next steps. "Teyla you'll stay with McKay while he works on the DHD. Ronon and I will take Anderson and Peterson to the dart to extract Miller. The rest will stay here to guard the wounded. McKay, get the power back on to the 'gate. If you get it working, send everyone through to Atlantis, then you and Teyla can join us at the dart."

"What if I _don't_ get it working? This thing is pretty much a jigsaw puzzle…" The fact that McKay spoke the words with exasperated calmness told Sheppard more than the words themselves: McKay was genuinely concerned.

"I have an idea about that. We'll call you from the dart…" Seeing that the men had formed around him as he'd described, even without a formal command, Sheppard grinned. These guys were going to be OK, he thought. He dropped the SAW and picked up his P-90, then stepped out towards the crash site, the others quickly following.

"Oh, right. We could use the dart's DHD if it's still intact…" McKay's babble faded behind him as John picked up the pace away from the Stargate. "Hey wait a minute! Why do we need to post guards?"

Sheppard only chuckled humorlessly. Teyla would fill him in.

"Keep your eyes open. Shoot anything that moves." Ronon summed up the problem nicely.

Wraith were pretty damn tough to kill...


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth chewed her bottom lip as she looked down into the crowded 'gateroom below. Although a weekend's worth of gear and nearly 20 men were packed into the arrival platform, they each somehow seemed to have found a way to pace in nervous anxiety – some in little circles, some in a couple of steps in each direction, back and forth. The floor was mass of silent movement.

Lorne's team and his 3 groups of trainees had returned on schedule moments before Rodney had dialed the gate, and 16 radio handsets had picked up to blare out his panicky report: Sheppard's training group was under attack and trying to rescue a man scooped up by the hostile darts. No one seemed to want to leave after that.

When the 'gate shut down abruptly only a few minutes later, a murmur of concern spread through the entire room. Elizabeth shot a look at the nearest technician. "The problem's on their side, Dr. Weir," he answered in response to the unspoken question.

She nodded, then, tapping the communications console, she ordered quietly, "Put the infirmary on alert, get a medic up here." Then she jogged quickly to the stairs taking a moment before she descended to spot Major Lorne in the midst of the crowd. Once down, she began to push her way through the warm bodies and piles of bags and boxes. In the thick of it, she began to realize just how filthy everyone was: every soldier was caked in mud and giving off that distinctive odor of wet fabric and stale sweat. Apparently, Lorne's training mission had had challenges of its own.

Finally fighting her way to Lorne himself, she held his worried eyes with her determined ones. "Let's clear the platform, Major. Sheppard's team may need some room when they dial back." The message was clear to Lorne: Sheppard _would_ dial back, he would get his men home…and they may need medical aid once they did. Lorne nodded and reluctantly began to bark orders to his trainees.

"Everyone off the deck. Stow your gear and hit the showers folks!" The milling crowd began to move towards the steps and hallways away from the 'gateroom platform. More than one equally worried soldier shot a questioning glance Lorne's way until he added to the instructions, "You can gather in the Duty Room once your gear is put away, guys. We'll send updates there when we know more."

Elizabeth smiled in acknowledgement at the gesture and stood with Lorne until the room was clear again.

"Sorry about the mess, Ma'am," Lorne said finally, trying to lighten the mood, but making it clear by his relaxed stance that he himself wasn't going anywhere else soon. Elizabeth nodded in bemused disgust at the sopping, muddy floor of the 'gateroom and the wide trail of muddy prints leading away down the hallway. "I'll send some guys back once they're clean enough to clean up."

She smiled faintly, "Looks like you had some trouble of your own, Major."

Lorne just shook his head, suddenly worried again and stared at the silent Stargate. "Not like that."

Elizabeth nodded again and checked her watch. Protocol dictated that Atlantis wait at least 15 minutes before dialing back to check on a team that has lost contact. It was more important for the offworld team to be able to dial in and come home than for them to satisfy their curiosity.

The medics she'd summoned arrived a couple of minutes later and, frowning at the muddy floor, set down their gear and got a triage station ready. "My team is geared up and ready to go the second Sheppard requests backup, Ma'am." Lorne said, subtly tapping his radio earpiece closed, having quietly taken the liberty of ordering as much.

Elizabeth nodded silently, crossed her arms and tapped her fingers against her elbow, and then, in all defiance of logic, she checked her watch again. With a sigh, she planted herself in front of the 'gate and settled in to wait.

* * *

Sheppard checked his watch and pushed on even faster, the rest of the group switching from a fast hike to a slow jog to keep up. Although, as far as they knew, Miller still only existed as a collection of bits in a Wraith computer, just waiting to be reformed into living matter, John was still beginning to worry that the Lieutenant was in danger. A host of imagined scenarios ranging from the dart exploding due to damage or its owner's self-destruct to the scooping beam simply losing power and erasing Miller's pattern flashed through the Colonel's mind, and he increased his speed even more. 

The landscape they were jogging through was hilly with few trees or undergrowth and everything was brightly green with local spring colors. It reminded John of Ireland. He'd once dated a woman from the British Air Force and vacationed with her in England and Ireland…it was one reason he'd liked the planet as a Beta site so much. As he pushed on in monotonous movement, he idly wondered what that girl would think about him comparing an alien planet in the Pegasus Galaxy to her homeland. She hadn't had much of a sense of humor, he remembered, or adventure. But she _had _been really hot…

Shaking himself out of the past, he checked his watch again and reached for his radio without slowing his pace. "Teyla, come in." Once she responded with satisfying speed, he went on, "Atlantis will probably be checking up on us in the next couple of minutes. Give them the update and then tell them to stand by."

"Should we ask them to send reinforcements or a jumper through?"

Sheppard thought for a moment, weighing the current situation, "Not yet," he answered finally. They weren't under fire, and it didn't seem worth putting another team at risk of getting stuck here with them. "Have them check back in 10 minutes. Once we get to the dart we'll know more about how long it's going to take to get Miller out and if the DHD will work for us. How's Rodney coming?"

Sheppard could still hear Rodney grumbling and griping just barely within the range of Teyla's receiver when she answered with a succinct, "He's not making as much progress as he'd hoped."

Sheppard grinned, "Has he got the power restored?" A jumper could dial home for them if the dart couldn't, but that wouldn't really mean anything unless the power was on.

Rodney cut in to answer the question himself, "I've got everything put back, but it's holding together with spit and a wish. The crystals are directing power intermittently, but I have to keep them in place manually for it to maintain any signal."

The astrophysicist would have gone on, but Sheppard cut him off. "Understood. Tell Atlantis as much, have them get any parts you need ready to send through in 10 minutes when they call back. Sheppard out." He jogged on. Five minutes passed and Teyla reported that indeed Atlantis had dialed in, were awaiting further instructions, and that Major Lorne had a team on standby. John quirked a grin to himself at the last: Major Lorne was supposed to be herding his own trainees around the Alpha site.

It took another 10 minutes to near the area where they thought the second dart had gone down and Sheppard finally slowed a bit to began scanning in all directions for signs of the ship. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it, the crashed dart appeared to have stopped smoking and all they had to go on was their initial trajectory. The gently rolling hills were pretty, but made for crappy visibility.

Just as he was considering splitting up to widen their search perimeter, Anderson topped the rise ahead of him and yelped with excitement, "There sir! The dart is still intact!" Sheppard hurried up to join him and his heart skipped a beat with relief when he saw the narrow, oddly organic-looking craft laying sprawled in a shallow gully between two green, grassy hillsides. He and his group began to scamper down their side of the mound when the full implication of what he was seeing hit him.

"Wait!" He froze and signaled the others to do likewise, waiting until he was certain everyone was listening, to continue in a low murmur, "The cockpit is empty. That Wraith is around here somewhere!"

Like cold water doused on a fire, the happy enthusiasm of the rescue team was quenched, leaving smoldering caution in the aftermath of John's warning.

"Ronon. Take the guys and set up a perimeter. I'll get Miller out of the dart."

Ronon was nodding in agreement when the first Wraith stun blast seared into the valley and struck Peterson. He went down like a sack of rocks, even as Sheppard and the rest were hitting the dirt to return fire. Goddam ship had to crash in a valley with a crappy defensive position, thought John fiercely as he aimed his P-90 in the general direction of the continued stun blasts.

Ronon crawled next to him and with their combined fire, the Wraith was forced to take cover long enough for John to hiss out his next commands. "New plan. Ronon, take Anderson and take out that sonofabitch. I'm still gonna try for the dart." Ronon moved to comply, but before he'd so much as caught Anderson's eye, Sheppard's radio blared to life. John hastily signaled the Satedan to wait.

It was Teyla's voice and it sounded strained, "Colonel! We are under fire! There are at least two Wraith firing at our position, maybe more. Rodney has not been able to dial Atlantis from the damaged DHD." The unmistakable sound of P-90 gunfire filtered through the speakers behind Teyla's clipped and tense report.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Sheppard furiously thought through scenarios, sorting and discarding options. The Wraith on their own tails began firing again and Ronon resumed suppression fire as John tried to figure out what the hell to do next. Apparently, either the other Wraith pilot had survived, or they already had their guys on the ground before the Atlantians took their ships down. That was the annoying thing about those darts: They could drop off as easily as they could scoop up.

"Teyla, I'm near the dart and it seems intact, but we're also under fire. Hold the 'gate. I'll get to the dart's DHD. If it works, send the wounded through, but tell Capt. Merrill to ask for reinforcements. It's time to ask for help here!" Atlantis would dial back in another 10 minutes, but that was an eternity during combat. They needed to dial the 'gate from here…now!

Assuming that Teyla was too busy for lengthy conversation, John closed the channel and simply waved at Ronon with a curt, "Get 'em!"

Ronon grinned in feral glee and signal-waved to Anderson his intent to roll back up and over the hill they'd just crested. Anderson grinned in grim pleasure and followed the order. Sheppard lay down cover fire and the two Atlantians vanished over the rim. A couple more stun blasts splatted harmlessly into the grass around him, then with satisfying abruptness, they ceased at the sound of machine gun fire coming from off to the South.

Using the distraction to good advantage, John hooked his hand into Peterson's vest and dragged him down the hill the rest of the way to the dart. Hefting him close to its protective bulk, John then hopped into the cockpit.

Panting with exertion and the thrill of combat, John took a few gulping, gasping breaths as he studied the instrument panel in front of him. He'd spent too much time in one of these things, once upon a time, and knew basically where all the components were, even if the language and readouts were all Greek as far as he was concerned. Sheppard forced down his worry and began poking at symbols on the Wraith dashboard.

First things First. "Teyla. I'm dialing." John shouted the heads up into his handset, but didn't expect a reply.

Accessing the DHD, John punched in the Stargate address that, God willing, would dial the 'gate and get his people home. Nervously peering at the landscape around him, he gave it a good 15 count before pouncing on the radio to beg, "Teyla! Did it work? Please tell me it worked!" The sound of gunfire reached his ears from roughly the direction in which Ronon had been going which told John that he and Anderson were still in pursuit.

An insufferable amount of time passed before Teyla's voice pierced the soft static of the open channel, "It worked, Colonel. Merrill took the wounded through the 'gate, but two more have been hit by stunners." John did the math: there were only 3 of them left to hold the 'gate…and Rodney had to babysit the cranky DHD. They needed those reinforcements!

"Do the best you can. Hold the 'gate. Lorne will be here soon. I'm going to get Miller out of the computer. Once reinforcements have secured the area, call me and I'll dial the 'gate again." Which would mean he and the rest of his rescue team would have exactly 38 minutes to make it back to the Stargate before it shut down automatically.

Shoving that problem aside to worry about later, John concentrated on the dashboard again to find the scooping beam controls. He was worried by the way the scoop's display seemed to be growing dimmer and dimmer, so once he decided he had the right buttons that would rematerialize Miller, he poked the command and began to leap out of the cockpit. A flash on the readout caught his attention for just a second, then, unable to decipher the message, he simply dropped to the ground to hurry around to the back of the ship where he was hoping to see a fully corporeal Lt. Miller passed out on the ground.

In fact, his first sight as he rounded the rear wing of the craft was of the unconscious Miller and John sighed in relief.

The next instant he was sent reeling by a staggering blow to his chest. He sprawled into the grass, gasping for breath and looked up to see a Wraith warrior looming closer.

"Shit," groaned John, rolling onto his hands and knees in an attempt to regain his feet before the Wraith reached him. _As if my day could get any worse_, John thought wearily. There had been _two_ patterns in the dart's computer, one of them Miller, the other the warrior just hanging around for its pilot to drop it off somewhere. And John had just hit the button to Pandora's Box.

Before he made it to his feet, the Wraith had John by the scruff of his neck -- or the fabric of his vest anyway – and flung him into the ground in another direction to land in a bruised heap. Again John rolled to push into a stand, managing to do so quickly enough that this time he made it to his feet before the bulky Wraith got close enough to throw him again. John backpedaled, scrabbling for his P-90 only to discover that in one of his swan-dives, the weapon had broken its clip and lay somewhere too far away to be of any help.

Sweat beading on his forehead and blood dripping from the re-opened cut on his forehead, Sheppard drew his 9 mil and fired into the body of the advancing Wraith. He got maybe 6 shots off before the beast growled and lunged at the weapon to slap it away like an annoying insect, reaching for John's chest in the chilling feeding grip. Out of options, John did the most startling thing he could think of and jumped into, instead of away from, the large creature.

Wraith warriors were big, bad, and ugly, but John had observed they weren't all that smart. His only hope was that the stupid beast would be so surprised by a direct assault that it wouldn't know what to do. At first, the tactic worked. John's thrust into the Wraith's chest surprised it enough, that John was able to drop his shoulder and throw its balance off. Together they crashed into the ground, chest to chest, with John on top pummeling the thing's torso and grotesque mask of a face with fists and elbows.

Unfazed by the, albeit stinging, blows, the Wraith simply threw an arm around Sheppard's back and crushed him into its rocky muscular chest where it lay on its back. John squirmed fiercely, feeling it's hot putrid breath on his face as it continued to squeeze his own breath out of him. The Wraith shifted and John struggled harder, sensing the beast's grip slipping ever so slightly.

His next sensation was of hot, screaming, unbearable pain and he grunted against the force of the blow that drove knife through vest, jacket, T-shirt and deep into flesh and sinew.

John yelled and felt the Wraith's blade grate against bone as it slid out of his back, the resulting warm gush of blood seeping through layers of fabric and trickling across hot skin. All fight left him and he writhed in agony, arching his back against the wound as the Wraith tossed him off into the grass and stood.

This time when John rolled, it was to bury his face in the cool earth and gulp for air, unable to think past anything but pain and more pain.

When the Wraith grabbed his collar again and flipped him onto his back, he cried out as the movement pulled at torn flesh and muscles. Dazed by the suffering, his vision growing black at the edges, John dully watched as the Wraith knelt, clenched its hand and drew its elbow back in the feeding pose. A spike of fear sent John's hands scrambling at his pockets and sides for some weapon, for anything to use to defend himself. His right arm wasn't working properly, but his left hand brushed across and grasped something cool and hard. The next moment was a blur of panic and reaction.

The Wraith lunged, John countered...then miraculously, the Wraith jerked backwards away from John's prone form, shuddered as the dull thud of many bullets splattered against its chest, finally crashing to its back in stiff mortality.

John remained where he lay, trembling, waves of pain radiating out from deep under his right shoulder blade. He gasped as the fear of his close call threatened to overwhelm him.

"Sir? Are you alright?" Peterson was crouched next to him, worriedly hovering. John felt the Lieutenant check his pulse. It seemed to take forever for the searing pain to subside into a manageable dull throbbing, but he had to keep forcing it down. He couldn't let the darkness take him yet.

Finally mastering the throbbing enough to gather his thoughts and return to the present, John allowed himself a disgusted groan and gasped out the long past-due answer, "Nope. Not very alright…but I think I'll live." Rolling awkwardly to push himself upright, he cut loose with a few choice Satedan expletives that Ronon had been teaching him. His right arm flopped uselessly in his lap.

Finally noticing the white-as-a-sheet and terrified expression on the trainee's face, John hastily tried to pull himself together, "I'm OK, Peterson -- really -- thanks to you. I thought I was snack food for sure."

Peterson's expression, however, was one of awe rather than gratification, and he shook his head in wonder. "I don't know, sir. You were doing pretty good on your own!"

Sheppard stared at Peterson in skeptical disbelief until he followed the younger man's nervous look at the dead Wraith. In addition to the many coldly oozing bullet wounds, the Wraith warrior had a standard issue combat knife sticking out of the side of its grotesque head, sunk to the hilt at the temple. "Oh." Said John, not sure if he should admit he had no memory of putting it there. Seeing the look of worshipful amazement on Peterson's face, John suppressed a grin decided not to say anything. "Right. It's still a good thing you shook off the stun when you did."

"Yes, sir." Peterson left John sitting to check on Miller who was still sprawled in the grass behind the ship. John struggled to focus on what needed to be done. First things First.

"Teyla… Situation report! What's going on at the 'gate!?"

This time, her reply was reassuringly quick, although John could still hear sporadic gunfire filtering through the tiny speaker. "Major Lorne and a strike team arrived moments ago, they are engaging the Wraith who seem to be retreating." John slumped in relief. "Lorne is worried they're pushing them back your way, Colonel," she went on.

"What about the 'gate. Can you dial from there yet?" John could almost see Rodney's expression at the ridiculous question, but you never knew with that guy; sometimes he pulled off the impossible even without John breathing down his neck.

"No," was all Teyla said, and John imagined her having to turn away from furious ranting to say it.

Sheppard sighed. His brain felt like mush and all he wanted was a hot bath and a handful of Dr. Beckett's finest. His back throbbed with each inadvertent movement, and his shoulder still hung limply. The only thing that worked on that side was from his elbow down. He wiggled his fingers just a bit to be sure they _were_ working. "Tell Lorne to secure the Stargate only, don't pursue the Wraith. As soon as Ronon makes it back here, we'll dial the 'gate from the dart and race the 38 minutes back to you. Can McKay hold the 'gate open that long?"

There was a long pause as Teyla apparently had to listen to another rant. Waving Peterson over, John staggered to his feet with help, then allowed the kid to hang onto his good arm long enough to be sure his feet were steady. "He says he can." Teyla finally replied.

John grinned. "OK, then. It took us 25 minutes to get here, and Miller is still unconscious from the dart's stunner. We'll be traveling slower."

"The Colonel is also wounded!" Peterson suddenly interrupted into his own radio, having apparently decided that his commander wasn't going to confess on his own. "He'll be traveling slower as well." Sheppard shot a look of pure disgust at the tattle-tale.

At Teyla's concerned exclamation, John replied resignedly, "Just..hold the door open for us OK? If we don't make it the first time, we'll have Peterson run back and forth to try it again." That'll teach the brat, he thought with tired amusement. Peterson only looked smug.

After John signed off, he stood for a moment, thinking and resting -- and apparently swaying because Peterson still stood close by with one hand resting loosely on John's elbow. He thought about calling Ronon back on the radio, then remembered that Ronon always turned his off when hunting Wraith, and he wouldn't come back until the Wraith was dead anyway. Sheppard would just have to wait. Several quiet moments ticked away to the rustle of a soft breeze over tall grass.

"Sir? Why don't you let me look at that wound?" Peterson's expression had faded into concern.

Sheppard sighed again. "Lieutenant, that sounds like a really good idea…but…Taking my jacket off would hurt like hell and, to be honest, I'm not sure I could do it with without passing out. Then you'd have two of us to carry back to the 'gate." Peterson just shrugged, but John caught his eyes and stared him down, "We're on borrowed time, here. The Wraith we shot down came here for a reason, one we'll probably never understand, but they are certain to send more once their buddies don't come home. We can't sit around or run back and forth a bunch of times trying to get it right. We'll be faster if I'm on my own feet."

The lieutenant's eyes grew wide. Clearly he hadn't considered that problem. Sheppard was saved the task of reassuring the now thoroughly stressed out man by the timely return of Ronon and Anderson. They jogged down into the valley with triumphantly weary expressions and Sheppard nodded to them in relief. It was time to get the hell out of here. He briefed them on the plan even before they had jogged to a halt, and, signaling Ronon to pick up the still blissfully unconscious Miller, he turned to shuffle stiffly towards the dart's cockpit.

Sensing that no one had moved behind him, he turned back in annoyance, "What?!" He snapped crossly when he saw all three of his men just standing and staring at him.

Ronon fixed Sheppard with a look of penetrating appraisal. "What happened to you?" he asked, then glanced down at the dead Wraith pointedly.

John opened his mouth to answer when Peterson blurted out, "The Colonel fought that Wraith hand-to-hand and the Wraith stabbed him, I think, but I didn't shake off the stun and get there until the Colonel stabbed him back. In the head!" It came out in an excited breathless rush.

John just grunted in exasperation. Ronon looked at him again, the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement. "You let a Wraith stab you?"

Rolling his eyes, Sheppard swore and continued on to the cockpit, Ronon's chuckle floating above the valley. It really hurt climbing into the cockpit this time, and John had to take a moment to clear the spots that were dancing through his vision before he brought up the DHD and called Teyla, one more time.

"Teyla, we're dialing now. We'll see you in 30 minutes." He hoped.

"Acknowledged…the 'gate is active. Lorne has secured the Stargate and Rodney has the power stabilized. But the Major wants me to warn you that there are at least two Wraith out there that have so far avoided us."

"Got it." John hoped like hell they'd stick with avoiding people.

There was a brief pause. "John?" Teyla's voice was quiet with uncompromising concern, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I…" John's glib answer stuck in his throat as Teyla's worried image floated into his imagination. "I think I can make it to the 'gate, Teyla. I have to try."

"Understood," she replied softly and the radio clicked as the channel closed.

John closed his eyes and rested his head back against the dart's headrest. The pain in his back was mutating into deathly cold numbness and he felt feverish and chilled at the same time. All were symptoms of the shock to his system, he knew. That and the steady loss of blood he could still feel seeping slowly into his jacket. For just a moment he was tempted to call Teyla back to have her ask for a Jumper from Atlantis to retrieve them. It wouldn't actually save them any time, he decided as he selfishly made the quick calculations: By the time Atlantis could prep a team and get a Jumper in the air, then adding the time it would take to fly from the 'gate to the dart, it would all add up to about the same amount of time it was going to take them to walk home.

Ah, but, he thought with a sigh, he could sit here in the comfortable cockpit and let himself pass out while Ronon laughed at him. It was a very tempting notion…very tempting. But something was bothering John that he couldn't quite pin down, some anxiety was gnawing at him that made him restless to get moving. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for the punch line of a practical joke that wasn't very funny. One thing he'd learned about the Wraith was that they were a lot like cockroaches: Once you saw one…

No, he'd told Teyla the truth. He had to try for the 'gate. To stay here was to put his men in further danger as they waited with him. "Command sucks…" he muttered to himself, trying to work up the courage to get moving out of the cockpit.

"What was that, sir?" Peterson stood on tiptoes looking in at him over the edge of the dart's rim.

"Nothing, lieutenant. Help an old Colonel out of here, will you son?" Sheppard overplayed the humor considerably and Peterson was too amused to notice John's grimace or the beads of sweat that were popping out on his forehead as the drop to the ground set his back shrieking.

Anderson and Ronon, Miller slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, joined them a second later. John looked at the group around him once in habitual assessment, and nodded them forward. "Come on, people. We're on the clock here. The 'gate shuts down in 34 minutes."

Anderson took point and John followed Peterson, trying hard not to look like he was within inches of a taking a nose dive into the spring grass. Ronon brought up the rear, but John caught his calculating glance as he passed by. So. Ronon was watching him he thought, trying to feel annoyed. Instead, he felt just a little bit better and pointed his face towards home. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ten minutes into the walk back to the Stargate, Miller began to groan and twitch sluggishly in Ronon's grasp. Ronon almost didn't notice the fretful movement he was so intent upon studying Sheppard's back in growing concern. The man he considered his friend and one of the bravest people he'd ever met was walking with his wounded arm held against his stomach, the other hand clasped around the elbow in a futile attempt to keep the shoulder immobilized. While Ronon was amazed at the speed Sheppard was able to maintain, the Colonel's strides were weak and his feet scuffed the soft grass with each step.

At last, when Miller lifted his head and gasped out an exclamation of surprise, Ronon paused, calling to the rest, "He's waking up." With a grunt, the tall Satedan lowered Miller to sit in a daze on the ground.

Sheppard stepped close and squatted gingerly to peer into Miller's face. The young Lieutenant met his gaze, but his eyes were still unfocused and he stared blearily around him at the circle of his colleagues.

"Miller?" Sheppard prompted with a smile, "You back among the living or are we going to have to carry your ass the _whole_ way home?"

Miller shook his head and seemed to be able to finally focus on his commanding officer's voice. His eyes opened wide at the Colonel's blood caked face and haggard appearance. "I'm up sir," he managed to force though his surprise and confusion, "feel a little weird is all."

"Pins and Needles?" chimed in Anderson, curious about the sensation that had been described to him so graphically by some of the other guys. Miller nodded.

"I'll bet. Let's get moving then." Sheppard cut off a potential conversation, then grimaced and lurched to his feet. Ronon caught a glimpse of just how much blood the Colonel was losing when the motion hiked up his vest for a moment to reveal a jacket soaked to the hem, threatening to seep its way further into his beltline. He narrowed his eyes in unease.

Peterson hauled Miller to a wobbly stand. Then they were moving again, Sheppard and Ronon bringing up the rear. Only a few steps later, Sheppard stumbled, catching himself easily and pushing himself on again. Ronon quickened his own steps to rumble quietly in John's ear. "Sheppard. Your wound is bad. You shouldn't be walking like this."

John shot him an annoyed look, "Who made you my mother for the day?" he snapped.

Ronon just raised an eyebrow. Sheppard knew he was experienced in these things, so he just stated the facts, "Your arm has been compromised, which means the knife probably cut a tendon. You're bleeding too much and it isn't clotting. A puncture wound should have easily closed quickly, no matter how deep, unless it also cut an artery."

John glared ahead trying to avoid the conversation. He knew all of that, and Ronon didn't even know about the pain in his chest that was growing with each breath. The knife had probably nicked a lung, too. He just didn't see that he had much of a choice. The wraith were coming. He knew it. He could feel it in his bones. He was as certain of the fact as if Atlantis itself had called in the warning.

Ronon glared for several more steps and John could feel it like a laser boring into his skull. "I KNOW," he snapped finally, turning his head to stare back at Ronon squarely, "But we need to get off this planet. ALL of us. The sooner the better." John let some of his growing sense of unease creep into his voice and Ronon finally nodded, returning his gaze to their path ahead.

"Besides," John muttered, knowing he sounded like a whiny kid as he said it, "It's not that far."

Ronon didn't reply, and John missed the glance that passed between Peterson and Anderson who'd been trying hard not to listen in.

"Come on, Miller!" Anderson chided at last, giving the still-wobbly trainee a friendly shove forward. "If the colonel can make it, so can you."

"Traitors," Sheppard grumbled. Then he grinned a bit with deserved pride. Yup, these guys were really going to be OK.

* * *

Rodney paced back and forth by the DHD, stopped for a moment to check on his tape and bailing wire patchwork that was continuing to keep the Stargate open – that and the soldier who was assigned to keep his arm stuck into the event horizon -- then began to pace again. Teyla sighed, once again stifling the annoyance she felt at McKay's manic restlessness. She knew her temper was fueled by her own worry and unease, so she fought to remain calm, even when Rodney blurted out, "Well, where are they? Shouldn't they be here by now? How long has it been?" 

"Three minutes longer than the last time you asked," answered Lorne humorlessly as he strolled by on his patrol around the perimeter.

"Very funny," McKay retorted. "But seriously. Shouldn't they be here?"

It was a mark of everyone's state of tension that no one even bothered to answer. Teyla was beginning to feel an uneasy pressure building in her mind, and she took a moment to identify the sensation, closing her eyes and relaxing in concentration. Her head tilted slightly as she seemed to be listening to something far away the rest of them couldn't hear. The Wraith on the planet were still some short distance away, but she sensed no new sharpening of resolve from them. She was far from able to determine their exact intentions in any situation. No, the unease was coming from somewhere else…

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she automatically hefted her weapon to her shoulder. "More darts!" She exclaimed loudly. The group guarding the perimeter immediately reacted, raising their own weapons to further readiness, scanning the landscape with uneasy sweeps. Lorne jogged over, "Which direction Teyla?!"

With a dramatic gesture, she raised her eyes skyward. Lorne jerked his chin upward then sucked in his breath: more than a dozen thin trails of jetstream were painting deadly stripes through the atmosphere as a squad of Wraith darts approached them from space. Sheppard's anticipated reinforcements had arrived, and had apparently been close enough to hyperspace jump directly into the solar system, bypassing the Stargate.

"Close the perimeter! Prepare to evacuate. The second our guys get back, we're out of here!" Lorne bellowed the command, then he glanced back at Teyla, "You and I will go out to meet them if they need help getting here." Teyla nodded in grim agreement, and she was reaching for her radio to warn Sheppard's group when the communications specialist, who's job it was to relay updates to Atlantis called out his report.

"Atlantis acknowledges and has a Jumper prepped and ready to send through if we need it. Shields are down and there are extra SOs on the platform in case our retreat gets ugly…" meaning if any hostiles decided to follow them through. Lorne acknowledged the report then jogged off to reign in an excited soldier who looked like he was about to fire at empty space in nervousness.

Teyla opened a channel, "Colonel Sheppard. We have incoming darts, ETA…" she squinted again skyward, "5 minutes tops. The 'gate will close in 8 minutes. What's your position?"

"We're almost there." Sheppard's voice was raspy and out of breath. "We're just over the big hill on your 1 O'clock. ETA…5 minutes." Teyla heard the defeat in the Colonel's voice as he realized how close he was cutting it. She hated how weak his voice sounded.

"John. Do you need help getting to the Stargate? Major Lorne and I are prepared to meet you in escort…"

The resulting silence was too long, and Teyla had actually taken a few steps towards the hill Sheppard indicated before his weary voice finally responded, "Negative. We're almost there… Sheppard out."

"Is he going to make it?" As usual, Rodney was able to voice the thought that the rest of them were suppressing. "He sounded terrible!"

"He'll make it," she answered firmly, willing it to be so. "He always does."

* * *

_"__Sheppard out." _

John Sheppard was nearly at the end of his reserves. Forced into a jog, every step forward was exquisite agony as his damaged shoulder was jostled in merciless repetition. Every breath was a painful stab in the side, making him feel like he was breathing thumbtacks instead of sweet air that he couldn't seem to get enough of. Relentlessly, he pushed himself forward, but he was still too slow. The others were slowing down to wait for him and every second they checked their pace, he was putting them in more danger.

He knew he'd made the right call at the dart, and he had seldom been less happy to be proven correct in his worry about Wraith reinforcements. He'd made the best decisions he knew how to make so far, and he knew now with certainty that his people could make it, even if it meant he wouldn't. He couldn't fail them now.

"Anderson," he wheezed out to the Captain who was fast-walking just ahead of him and throwing quick, concerned glances his way every couple of minutes. "Take the others and hoof it to the 'gate. You'll make it well within time if you sprint."

"We won't leave you sir," Anderson spoke with defiant firmness. The others were nodding violently in agreement.

"You're not leaving me, you idiots. You're just…scouting ahead, OK! Ronon will hang around and drag me home by the hair if I need it, but I won't be responsible for your missing the train. Now get going!"

"But…"

"_That's an order_, Captain." Sheppard's voice was sharp and Anderson gulped back his protest, shooting a look at Ronon but receiving no support there. Sheppard watched the conflicted man's face flash in confusion but before it could settle on mutiny, John added softly, his breath jerking with each staggering trot, "Am I _wrong_, Anderson? If you were in command, what would you do? _Am_ I wrong?!" Peterson and Miller jogged alongside, watching the exchange with unabashed wonder. Miller had the good manners to look embarrassed and his cheeks flushed scarlet.

Anderson slumped in defeat, "No sir. But I disagree."

Sheppard smiled, "Then trust me."

Anderson tried for one more look of entreaty, then with a sigh he squared his shoulders and took off in a dead run, hustling the others along with him. They soon disappeared over the crest of the last hill between them and the Stargate, taking only a single look back over their shoulders before they dropped out of sight.

Sheppard jogged on in satisfaction, his back throbbing.

"It's your own damn fault you know," Ronon chuckled at his side. "Those men were _good_ soldiers before you got your hands on them."

John shook his head in amused annoyance. "I guess I just tend to rub off on people," he gasped.

"Thank the Ancestors!"

More painful steps flowed under John's feet, and he began to struggle against the incline of the hill they had finally reached themselves. Ronon put a hand to John's belt and shoved him upwards in unobtrusive assistance.

"Two minutes, Sheppard."

"I know…"

* * *

The darts were becoming audible screeches in the sky when Anderson, Miller and Peterson pelted into the formation at the Stargate. Lorne had pulled his men into a tight defensive group, as close to the shimmering circle as possible. Teyla and Rodney still stood by the DHD which was beginning to make faint sizzling and hissing sounds as the damaged power crystals protested under the unusually long active session. 

Rodney looked up long enough from his worrying over the repairs to watch the three men hurry over to Lorne to report in, pulled a double-take then hollered angrily after them, "Where's Sheppard?! The man's injured and you just left him out there?"

Anderson shot him a look of pure loathing, then turned his back on McKay in deliberate affront to continue his hasty debriefing. "Rodney!" hissed Teyla as the equally furious scientist spluttered, "Let them report before you pass judgment."

"Judgment! What Judgment? I just call it like I see it. If those _trainees_…" Fortunately, McKay got no further because just then, the first of the approaching darts screamed by in a reconnaissance pass, skimming low over the grasslands. Rodney ducked in terror, and 10 pissed off Atlantis soldiers opened fire skywards. Someone got a lucky hit and with surprising ease, the craft began to smoke a little, pulled up to streak heavenwards…and kept going, either damaged enough to return home, or scared enough to wait for his slower buddies.

"Well done!" Lorne exclaimed. "Keep doing it like THAT!"

"We've only got a couple of minutes before the 'gate shuts down! Rodney yelled over the growing din of more approaching darts. "We can't engage them all!"

"I'm not suggesting we should, Dr. McKay." Lorne shot back, holding his own annoyance in check.

Seconds ticked by and the anxious group at the Stargate stood in silent tension. Aside from the darts, it was deathly silent. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe.

"Seriously…" whined Rodney in a stage whisper, unused to being silent for so long under these conditions, "Shouldn't they be here by now?"

Lorne checked his watch. They _were _running out of time. Glancing skyward at the now visible swarm of darts breaking formation to spread out over the countryside, the Major reluctantly decided to begin the retreat. He would wait for his C/O, but Sheppard would be pissed if Lorne didn't get at least the majority of their people off the planet before the 'gate collapsed. "Move out Captain, get your men home," he yelled, waving at Anderson and assuming the trainees had probably had enough excitement for one day.

"No sir."

It was Lorne's turn to pull a double-take but it only took one look at the Captain's mutinous determination to understand just exactly what was going on here. Sheppard's trainees were going to see it through to the end. With an amusement that echoed Ronon's, Lorne just sighed and bellowed instead, "Recovery team, head on through." Those were _his_ men and he shot them a look that said they'd damn well better NOT argue. Even if Sheppard did make it, they couldn't get 13 people into the 'gate at once at the last possible second. _Someone_ had to go first!

Lorne was watching the first group evacuate when a happy whoop rang out from someone in the circle around him. Lorne spun, expectantly peering at the crest of the nearby hill where Ronon and Sheppard stood silhouetted against the bright sky. He gave a whoop himself, then grinning broadly he jerked his thumbs at the Stargate, "They made it! We're leaving! Prepare for retreat!"

He was waving more soldiers into the event horizon and still happily watching Sheppard when Lorne's relief quickly sank into a knot of worry as it became clear the nearer they got that his C/O was in bad shape. The Colonel still clutched his damaged elbow to his side, and Ronon still had his hand on Sheppard's waist, pushing him forward with no-longer-gentle haste.

Lorne hadn't known someone that pale could still be standing upright.

A sizzling stunner blast flashed through the group, jerking Lorne's gaze to another nearby hill. Apparently the two Wraith they'd scared off earlier had regrouped and returned for an ambush, emboldened by the arrival of their fleet of darts. Ronon had his large energy weapon out and firing, even while still pushing a wearily determined Sheppard closer to the safety of the 'gate.

"Abramowicz, Michelson, cover fire at 12 o'clock and 2 o'clock. The two Marines responded instantly with deadly precision and the Wraith stun-fire sputtered but didn't cease. It _did_ give Sheppard the time he needed, and at long last, John stumbled past the DHD towards the Stargate, his colleagues and his friends lining up on either side of his path in a spontaneous show of respect. The line closed formation behind him and together they executed a picture-perfect retreat.

Another dart strafed the site, deploying its scooping beam in a half-hearted attempt to stop them. The two soldiers who were closest and in danger, reacted with perfect instinct, rolling out of the path of the scoop while the rest drove the dart away with return fire. Peterson was the first back to his feet, brushing off grass-stains then rejoining the retreat.

A foot away from the calmly flickering Stargate, Sheppard planted his feet and turned as if to oversee the evacuation. Ronon only shook his head in disgust and with a sloppy shove, tumbled Sheppard into the event horizon. It was Ronon, then, who turned and hustled the few remaining soldiers through, backing last into the 'gate with Teyla and Lorne at his side, leaving the darts to scream their fury at the lost prey.

* * *

Sheppard paced in front of the Stargate watching and counting each soldier that came through. He was furious at Ronon for denying him that privilege at the Beta site, and the anger kept him on his feet, despite his pounding back and gasping breaths. John was vaguely aware of Elizabeth standing nearby, watching him warily. He hadn't had the energy to argue rationally about his intent, his NEED to see every man home before he shut down, so he'd simply brushed her off and started his pacing. 

He hoped she wouldn't hold it against him later, because he was going to need a lot of sympathy once he _really_ started to feel the full impact of the knife wound.

When Teyla, Lorne and Ronon backed through the wormhole, it collapsed within an instant of delivering them onto the platform, as if, gasping with a weariness of its own, it couldn't wait to shut down. Sheppard planted himself squarely in Ronon's path so that the large man would have to go through him to get anywhere else.

Ronon turned at last and was confronted with John's angry glare. Ronon curled his lip into a toothy grin, jutted his chin out and, with a sharp, practiced gesture, jerked his index finger at one eye.

Sheppard glared a moment longer, then his own lips began to twitch. The Satedan gesture, roughly translated as "Spit Here", had the emotional impact of someone flipping you the bird and exclaiming, "Bite me." Only Ronon could get away with it. Finally unable to suppress the amusement, John laughed, slumping into himself with fatigue.

Ronon walked by and slapped him on his good arm, "Sit down, Sheppard, before you fall down."

But Sheppard had one more last bit of business, "Major Lorne!"

"Yes, sir?" Lorne looked over his shoulder from where he'd been standing and quickly stepped closer.

"Thanks for the assist," John said softly. "Aren't you supposed to be at the Alpha site?"

"No sir. _We_ got back on time, sir!" Lorne grinned. "And you're welcome!"

Sheppard looked once around the slowly clearing 'gateroom. "Is everyone accounted for, Major?" The question was formal but the delivery was plaintive. Lorne answered with quick confidence, managing to pack both relief and his own deep respect into the answer.

"_Everyone_, sir."

John nodded, satisfied, and closed his eyes briefly. His strength was leaving him like the last dregs of bathwater sloshing down the drain. Thinking no further than finding somewhere to sit, he made his way to the edge of the steps that led off towards the rest of the tower corridors. Reaching blindly with his good arm, he lowered himself onto the top step, then leaned over to bury his face in his hands.

His reserves gone, he suddenly had nothing left to hold back the flood of torture his body insisted upon communicating, and the throbbing pain in his back and chest slowly began to wash up over him in a rising tide, pounding in his ears with painful pressure, drowning out, with a dull roar, the soft footsteps and concerned whispering of soldiers quietly passing him on their way to clean up and check out. He didn't know how long he sat there, but he was beginning to realize he would not be able to leave that spot without help.

A cool hand touched his hot forehead, brushing through blood-caked hair and he heard Elizabeth's soft voice call to him over the waves and waves of suffering. "John? Beckett's here…" And so were his friends. Instinctively he sensed the ring of support loosely gathered around him.

"Aye, lad. We'll have ye checked out and on your way to the infirmary in no time."

John only squeezed his eyes all the more tightly shut, and rocked against the increasingly devastating swells. Beckett hastily began to run through the most basic tests -- pulse and temperature -- but when the doctor began to try to unzip and slide the heavy, blood-encrusted tactical vest off, John gasped and began to plead, "Please don't, please don't, please don't…", stiffening against even the lightest of touches.

"Ok, Colonel. OK," Beckett soothed and gave up the attempt at once. "We'll wait 'til you're more comfortable to try that." His face buried in his hands again, and in the company and comfort of people that he knew cared about him, John choked out his gratitude with a sound that might have been a sob.

John fought the pounding surf through the painful experience of lying himself down onto a stretcher, and during the long ride through both dim and bright corridors into the cool, antiseptic rooms of the infirmary. Seeing the Colonel's stubbornness, Beckett thought for a long moment upon arrival, then quietly slipped into the pharmacy before transferring John to a bed.

John felt the sting of the needle enter his arm at almost the same moment he began to feel the drowsy warmth of its effects. Relaxing at long last, Sheppard finally slipped into the deep unaware.


	5. Chapter 5

12 Hours later:

Lieutenant Miller stood nervously at the doors to the Infirmary, fidgeting while he waited for an invitation to enter. He'd had several hours in the place himself yesterday afternoon as he waited for his post-mission checkup and endured the merciless teasing and tormenting of his fellow trainees, growing more and more frustrated and humiliated at the endless talk about Sheppard's rescue. He really thought he might just haul off and slug the next guy who called him "Wraithbait."

Once he had finally escaped he'd crashed hard in his quarters, forgoing the usual, unofficial, post-training parties, to sleep off the weekend's exercises and culminating excitement. When he'd reported to the Duty Room this morning to receive his day's assignments, he'd been told to report to Colonel Sheppard in the infirmary first.

Miller's stomach knotted with anxiety. He'd only been on Atlantis for a week and had just about convinced himself that he was about to become the fastest washout in the history of the Stargate program. In fact, some small part of him was looking forward to being chewed a new one so he could just be done with it and go on his way. At least then, maybe, the guys would let up a little if he did get to stick around for the rest of his tour.

Dr. Beckett finally walked by, looking distracted. The Doctor stared at Miller for a moment, passed a hand over tired eyes, then exclaimed, "Oh, yes. You're the lad the Colonel wanted to see." Miller gulped, now suddenly imagining his commanding officer on his deathbed and intending to court-martial him with his last dying breath.

That thought gained weight as he was led to Sheppard's bedside and caught a glimpse of the man's appearance: the Colonel looked like someone on his deathbed. He lay basically on his back, but was propped up with an elaborate construct of pillows such that his heavily bandaged shoulder blade and immobilizing sling were free of painful pressure. Sheppard's fist clenched tightly around the edge of the canvas sling, and his face was pinched with lingering pain, bordering on a grimace. As Miller came to a stop at the foot of the bed, Sheppard grunted an exasperated sigh of annoyance and he rolled his head with fretful discomfort.

"Stop your bellyaching, Sheppard. He's here."

Miller jerked his head towards the voice and suddenly realized that Ronon, Dr. Weir, Teyla and Dr. McKay were all scattered around in the general area and watching the Lieutenant curiously in various positions of casual vigil. McKay sat idly poking at a laptop between watchful glances, Teyla seemed to have fallen asleep in one of the few comfortable chairs, which wouldn't have been surprising had Miller known she'd been by the Colonel's side since returning from the Beta site.

Not used to being in such intimate circumstances with so much Senior Brass, Miller tensed himself even more rigidly to attention. It suddenly, powerfully, hit the cocky and sometimes-arrogant young man that not only were these people Colonel Sheppard's peers in command and rank, but they also must be his friends. The epiphany unexpectedly revealed the Colonel as much more human -- likable. And that made Miller nervous. "Lt. Miller, sir. Reporting as requested?" He choked the response out with a shaky determination.

It was Ronon who had spoken from his seat close to Sheppard's head. The Satedan warrior was slouched comfortably with his feet propped up on the lowered rail of the bed, pushing the front legs of the chair up off the floor to rock riskily on the rear legs. "Over here." Ronon lowered the chair and moved his feet out of the way so Miller could stand close enough to see and be seen by the Colonel.

Sheppard studied Miller's face for a long moment through pain-squinted eyes, and then asked in a tone of genuine concern, "Are you OK, Lieutenant? You were out from that Wraith stun for a long time…"

"Uh, yeah…sir." Miller was so surprised by the unexpected question that it took him a moment to form his reply, "Dr. Beckett said that some people just take longer than others…to wake up, I mean. Especially their first time." Miller blushed furiously in annoyed embarrassment at McKay's snicker from behind him, but Sheppard only nodded.

"Good." He closed his eyes again and shifted a little as if waiting-out some swell of discomfort. When he opened them again, his face was sterner, although his voice belied his weakness. "Do you know what you did wrong yesterday, Miller?"

_Here it is_, he thought, _here's where I get kicked off Atlantis._ He braced himself to attention again and heard a touch of bravado creep into his voice. "Yes sir. I didn't get out of the way, sir."

Sheppard chuckled, surprising Miller again. "Do you know _why_ you didn't get out of the way?"

Miller opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut. He'd been about to say 'because I wasn't fast enough', or 'because I made an error in judgment.' That was what any other commander he'd worked under would have wanted him to say. But Sheppard was frustratingly confusing. Deep down, Miller knew that he had made an assumption based on past experience and forgotten the new rules when the thrill of the moment was upon him. Just like Sheppard had warned them against. Miller didn't want to admit that to this man he still stubbornly held reservations about, and he kept his mouth clamped shut.

Sheppard watched him struggle for a long moment, then sighed. "I think you DO know exactly what happened. You're just too damn proud to say it out loud. All right then. We can play by the rules: Lt. Miller, your performance in combat yesterday was unsatisfactory." Miller frowned, then stared ahead in stoic acceptance. Sheppard went on, his voice beginning to sound breathy as he tired from the intense encounter, "If you ever pull anything like that ever again…I'm gonna kick your ass." He finished quietly with a faint smile, then abruptly grimaced and sucked in a painful gasp, closing his eyes.

Miller just stood there. Nothing about Sheppard was like anything he expected, and Miller wasn't sure he could get used to the man's bizarre command. He liked structure and familiarity and the comfort of strict discipline towards superficial objectives. An awkward moment passed, then Ronon nudged his calf with a foot, "He said you're dismissed."

Miller turned smartly and darted away from the infirmary as fast as he could without appearing rude. With barely acknowledged regret, the Lieutenant decided that Atlantis might not be the place for him after all.

* * *

Ronon watched the kid beat a hasty retreat, then turned back to his Sheppard-watching, feet again on the rail and his chair again tilted back. His friend had only just regained consciousness after surgery and recovery, and was in considerable post-op pain. Ronon had briefly tried to talk John out of meeting with Miller so soon, but Sheppard's stubborn streak won out. And, Sheppard had a point that the kid needed to see the consequences of his actions, even if it did mean breaking the usual "never show weakness so your troops think you're invincible," rule. 

Even from a Satedan military point of view, very few of the usual rules applied to Sheppard, thought Ronon with a chuckle as he watched the man writhe again and moan very, very softly in discomfort. "Stop your bellyaching, Sheppard." Ronon groused again, good-naturedly.

Dr. Weir frowned slightly at the seemingly insensitive words from where she had moved to sit on the edge of John's bed in response to the heart-wrenching sound. She patted John's free forearm awkwardly. But Ronon only grinned. The strong but all-too-feminine Elizabeth Weir just didn't understand that the ribbing was Ronon's way of acknowledging his friend's pain without embarrassing him. It was a guy thing, or perhaps a soldier thing; but it worked. Sheppard looked mildly amused, and returned Elizabeth's affection by snatching at her tentative hand and giving it a solid squeeze.

"So, John, do you think you got through to the annoying Lieutenant Miller?" Elizabeth asked lightly, trying to distract her colleague with conversation.

"No." Answered both Sheppard and Ronon in unison.

"Really?" interrupted Rodney in surprise, moving closer to butt into the discussion. "After all you did to get him out of that dart and getting yourself all sliced up?"

Sheppard just shrugged, or tried to, then actually yelped with the resulting consequences. "If you stop moving around, it won't hurt, you dimbulb," Ronon quickly soothed to another frown from Elizabeth. They all waited in supportive silence as John exhaustedly worked his way back on top of the pain again, then Ronon went on as if answering Rodney's question. "But Anderson is going to be an asset. Peterson did all right too. There were a couple from Lorne's group that performed well during the retreat."

Sheppard nodded, closing his eyes and drifting towards sleep. He understood completely, even if Elizabeth and Rodney were staring in confusion at the seeming non-sequitor. Some men, like Miller, only understood power and intimidation and would never really learn the lesson about teamwork and duty and trust that Sheppard tried to teach. But Sheppard hadn't risked his life and those in his command to teach Miller a lesson. Sheppard did what he had to do, because of who he was and what he believed. Miller might not have figured that out, but the others had.

"You checking out on us you lazy bastard?" Ronon murmured quietly to draw the others' attention to the fact that John needed rest as much as he needed their company. Elizabeth gave up frowning, finally catching on to the game, and slipped off the bed with one last pat. McKay also threw a distracted wave goodbye and tucked his computer under his arm to walk out with Elizabeth.

"You got a problem with that, you short-tailed mother's son of a song?" John's voice was low and sleepy.

Ronon guffawed heartily at the butchered Satedan insult, almost tipping his chair too far and having to jerk forward suddenly. "It's 'son of a short-legged _stang_,'" he corrected, still laughing.

"Whatever…" And John was asleep.

* * *

Weekly Command Briefing: 

Elizabeth paused at the threshold of the Duty Room to take in the crowded space, warm and stuffy with bodies, noisy with the chatter of excited soldiers exchanging gossip and news. This time as she worked her way through the room, she heard more than one snatch of conversation that went something like, "Yeah, and then Sheppard…" or "Sheppard fought this huge sucker…" Elizabeth grinned with undisguised amusement. The story of the harrowing training weekend was clearly still the talk of the town, and she was pleased to hear Sheppard's role well regarded in the retelling of it. The new guys who'd been in Sheppard's training group were relishing the attention from their peers, new and old, as they were plied for more exciting details.

With guilty curiosity, she looked around to see if she could find out how Miller was taking it all…but with just a small regret, she wasn't able to spot him and continued on through the room. He wasn't in the front row again drawing attention to himself, at least, she noticed.

As she continued to pushed her way to the front to greet Major Lorne, Rodney called and waved frantically from a few feet away where he was being prevented from reaching her by a knot of burly Marines, deep in some intense conversation. "Elizabeth, wait up for a second!"

One of the men turned his head to see who'd spoken, then stepped aside, hastily slapping at his friends to do likewise. "Oh, hey. Thanks!" Rodney exclaimed, surprised. Even Rodney seemed to have gotten some mileage out of the adventure and McKay was beaming as they passed by a knot of soldiers animatedly describing the condition of the damaged DHD and McKay's feat in pulling the power just in time to prevent Miller's dart from escaping.

Major Lorne was calling the room to order as Elizabeth and Rodney reached the front, joining him in preparation to address the group before the regular weekly briefing that Lorne would run this week. As the room quieted down, someone called out, "Major! How is Colonel Sheppard, sir?!" Lorne smiled and nodded at Elizabeth who had come to answer just that question.

"Colonel Sheppard underwent surgery two days ago to repair damage to his shoulder as a result of a knife wound in the back. The surgery went well, and he is expected to recover full use of his right arm after a bit of healing and physical therapy. He will remain in the infirmary for a few more days, then he assures me he'll be back to 'annoying you people', his words, next week when he returns to duty."

There was a rustle of pleased acknowledgement and Elizabeth stepped back to return the floor to Lorne who dove into the day's business. "Dr. Weir has asked that we begin an immediate search for a new Beta site, so beginning in two days, teams will be assembled to scout and tag potential planets for further exploration. Dr. McKay has also recommended, based on recent experience, that all personnel take basic DHD and Stargate technical training should any of you find yourselves in the situation our teams found themselves in this past weekend without Dr. McKay along."

Lorne's face twitched as he delivered the last, knowing that McKay himself wouldn't see the humor at all. And, in fact, as the room twittered in amusement, McKay indeed stood looking importantly thoughtful… "Lastly, Colonel Sheppard has asked me to pass along to all offworld teams the recently acquired intel that some Wraith do carry knives, and that this information should be included in the inventory of ways they can hurt you." The chuckling was much louder this time, and Elizabeth was pleased with the way Lorne had managed to work in the reminder of their COs experience and sacrifice.

Someone called out, "Maybe some Wraith like Shish kabob!" And the chuckles devolved into boos and hisses at the bad joke. Lorne resolutely tried to call them back to order.

Her part finished, Elizabeth began to edge to the side, intending to return to her own duties as Lorne continued the briefing throughout the morning. Before she got very far, however, a nervous voice called out and hastily asked, "Wait, Ma'am! Before you go, could we ask you a question?!" Elizabeth shot Lorne a look of surprise at the interruption and waited for Lorne's shrug of approval before she nodded.

"Um… well.." the soldier stammered around for a bit, seeming to have used up all his courage in interrupting the briefing, so the exasperated friend who'd been egging him on finally piped up himself, "Ma'am, we just wanted to know if Colonel Sheppard really did kill that Wraith this weekend single-handedly?"

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from grinning and finally managed to answer solemnly, "That's the way I heard the story," she said.

"I saw him do it!" called out Peterson excitedly, seeing that they weren't going to get reprimanded for speaking, "The thing had him on his back and he pulled out that knife and, _crunch_, stuck it in the sucker's head up to the hilt!"

There were murmured oohs and aahs before the first voice called back, "You told us that already, Peterson. We just thought you were full of shit!" There was much hooting and laughing during which Lorne and Elizabeth just exchanged looks of amused defeat as the briefing again dissolved into chaos.

Once the noise started to die down a bit, another voice crowed, "Hey! Did Sheppard really blow up two Wraith Hive ships by flying a nuke into a hangar bay?"

"No," Replied Rodney immediately, joining in on the fun, "he only got one Hive ship with the jumper. The Dedaduls took out the second one during the Siege." There were more oooohs.

"The time Sheppard took out _two_ Hive ships, he was alone flying a Wraith dart." Major Lorne wasn't about to let Rodney have the last word and as the room erupted into amazed cheers, Elizabeth took the opportunity to slip towards the door at last. Lorne and McKay could handle the Q&A, she decided, and she thought she just might pop in on John before returning to work to pass along the concern and well-wishes from his troops.

As she was stepping out the door into the hallway the happy babbling was dying down again and she idly wondered if that would be the end of it even as she walked briskly down the long and beautiful corridors. Just before she reached the first turn, she swore she heard an excited voice drifting down the hall towards her, "Sir! Sir! _It is true_…..?" Chuckling, Elizabeth turned the corner and the murmurs faded away.

_A/N: Thanks again for the fun and the feedback. A large part of this story was written as a deliberate exercise in "increasing tension and suspense," so let me know if you think I got things tense and suspenseful enough, or too much etc.! You can blame the great book I'm reading, "Plot & Structure: (Techniques and Exercises for Crafting a Plot That Grips Readers From Start to finish) (Write Great Fiction) by James Scott Bell." Chapter 3..._

_And lastly, I apologize for all the Satedan cursing. I hope no one was offended! But you know what they say: the Satedan equivalent of "Curse like a Sailor" is "Swear like a Specialist."_

_Glossary:  
Dimbulb - an expression referring to a flowering annual on Sateda on which one out of twenty buds will bloom in the middle of the night instead of during the sunlight hours. The dimbulb is the errant bloom which is perceived as ass-backwardly stupid._

_Short-legged Stang - I'm just really not going to go there...  
_


End file.
